


Revelry

by lindsey_grissom



Series: Scenes From A Life Together [6]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, post-series 5, pre-series 6, set after ‘that scene’ in the Christmas episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: A moment continued during a certain Christmas party after a certain special question has been popped.





	Revelry

“Well now, aren’t we a pair?”

Despite the tears still clinging to his lashes, he finds himself smiling widely down at Mrs Hughes – or perhaps not despite; however shameful they feel to him now, they are tears of happiness, just as he knows her own to be.

“Indeed, Mrs Hughes.” He agrees, taking her offer of a handkerchief to mop at his eyes. It’s a delicate lace-edged thing that surely looks absurd in his great paw of a hand – a gift he gave her years ago, her initials embroidered at the corner.

Damp now, he looks at it, his thumb rubbing at the blue lettering, stilling on the place where the two letters join. She’ll need a new set soon, a _C_ to replace the worn _H_. The thought sets his heart thumping harder in his chest.

He can still hardly believe it.

_‘Of course I’ll marry you…’_ so sure, so certain. _‘Of course’_ as though there could never have been another answer at all.

Instead of returning the handkerchief, he tucks it away in his pocket, meeting her raised eyebrow with one of his own even as his hand returns to settle back on hers. He wonders if she is aware that she has returned to clasping his arm.

“A favour.” He explains of his theft and revels in her huff of laughter.

“It may have escaped your notice, Mr Carson, but I am not a Lady and we are not characters in an Arthurian novel.”

He read _The Once And Future King_ at her request, many years ago. It is not a favourite, but he did enjoy their lively debates for the few weeks after.

“And yet I find myself in great need of such a token of luck this evening, Mrs Hughes.”

“Oh?” She is beautiful in the soft light, her eyes sparkling just as surely as all the glittery charms hanging from the tree in the hall.

“Yes.” He can hardly catch his breath again; is this how it will be now, forever captured by her face when she looks at him, unable to think or speak? Unable to look away.

It’s perhaps not so different from days, weeks, months – _years_ – ago; she has always commanded his fullest attention.

“Mr Carson?” Her eyes darken, little lines forming between them where she frowns and it is an effort to compose his thoughts in order, but worth it to see how her skin smoothes out once again.

“You see now, Mrs Hughes, why I might need a favour from a dear lady?”

She flushes, he is certain of it and it charms him. “I’m afraid I don’t see at all.”

He smiles, squeezes the fingers still held beneath his own, feels hers press harder against his skin until he can almost believe he feels her warmth through the layers of shirt and jacket that separate them.

“How am I to perform my duties for the rest of the evening, Mrs Hughes, if I can hardly focus on a single conversation?”

Another eyebrow rises, though he is certain she understands now as her cheeks redden all the deeper.

“That’s hardly my fault–”

“On the contrary, Mrs Hughes. I’m afraid this is entirely your fault, or your doing at least.” He interrupts her carefully, smiles at the frustrated huff she gives him before continuing on with her defence.

“Regardless, you’ve no more duties left, except to see everyone out at the end; this is as much your night to enjoy as anyone else’s.”

Another man might make a comment then, about enjoyment and nights. But it would be vulgar and he is not a vulgar man and so the thought does not even cross his mind.

Instead he takes her hand from his arm and turns it in his hold, rubs a thumb against the delicate bones of her knuckles.

“And without a charm of good luck, I’m afraid I would fail at even that tonight. I find myself quite distracted by you, Mrs Hughes.”

He has surprised her, with his words and the sentiment, or perhaps it is simply how close his lips are now to her palm. Close enough to touch, should he wish to. And he does wish, but more than that, he wishes to keep from offending her tonight. There will be time enough in the days and weeks, months and – heaven bless them – _years_ to come.

He smiles again and allows their hands to drop to his side.

“Goodness, Mr Carson. Whatever has got into you?”

He could answer a great many things; the scent of her hair in the small room, the lamp light in her eyes, the curves of her wrist and hip, the love he has for her that he can perhaps begin to speak of…

But now is not the time for such things, not with the house awake and busy around them, with interruption no doubt imminent.

“Happiness, Mrs Hughes. And the Christmas spirit.”

She catches the lightening of his tone, folds her fingers around his in a soft press of understanding.

“It’s some kind of spirit, no doubt. How many glasses of punch have you had tonight?”

He laughs and empties the one still clasped in his hand. “Perhaps we’d best rejoin the party?” He offers, taking her own hastily emptied glass and placing them both on his desk to be cleared away tomorrow.

“Certainly, Mr Carson. We wouldn’t want to miss His Lordship’s speech.”

His hand hovers in the air at the small of her back, closer to touching now than it ever has been before. Soon, he reminds himself; soon.

“That is if Her Ladyship and Mr Branson ever _let_him speak.” She adds as they take the stairs, side-by-side.

“Perhaps it’d be best if they don’t; he’s been rather heavy handed with the whisky tonight, I wouldn’t expect he’d have anything of much import to say.”

“Oh I don’t know.” He hesitates by the door, one hand pressed flat against it, ready to push it open when she’s done. “I’ve heard some wonderful things from men effected by the spirits.”

She turns from him then, gestures with her hand until he opens the door.

As they step through, he leans down to her ear. “Men, Mrs Hughes, _men_?”

He is perhaps the only one to see how she mouths ‘_you_’ amongst the carol lyrics.

Not everything has been decided tonight, but the important things, the biggest has been settled, he thinks.

He stands beside her amongst the staff and tenants, the family and does his best not to jump as her fingers brush across his own, hidden by her skirt.

Their life together shall be anything but dull, he can at least be assured of that.


End file.
